


Mirror, Mirror

by DeliaRaNar



Category: The Invisible Man (TV 2000)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Kidnapping, Missions Gone Wrong, Quicksilver Madness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:28:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25882852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeliaRaNar/pseuds/DeliaRaNar
Summary: A mission goes wrong, an old vendetta, struggling with quicksilver madness and uncomfortable mirrors.
Kudos: 2





	Mirror, Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Found this fic in my files from the mid 2000s when preparing to migrate the rest of my stuff over here. I don't think it is posted anywhere else. Originally written as a prompt for school-see the quote in the first paragraph.

Mirror, Mirror

An Invisible Man Fan Fiction

_A seventeenth century poet named Ben Jonson once wrote “Language springs out of the inmost parts of us. No glass renders a man’s likeness so true as his speech.” Now I don’t know if that’s so true for everyone, but it is uniquely true for me. My name is Darien Fox, and I’m the invisible man._

_No, really- I can go invisible. Honest._

_How? Well, to give the condensed version, I was a thief, and I got caught. In order to spring me from the pen my brother asked me to play guinea pig for him and a bunch of government scientists. Being a fool- I said yes. They put this Gland in my brain that secretes a chemical called quicksilver which covers my body and bends light around me, so I become invisible. Cool, right? Right, except that every few days I have to get a shot of counteragent or I go insane. That’s right, insane. It turns out that quicksilver buildup in the brain causing a total loss of inhibitions and blowing all concept of right and wrong straight to hell. To top it off, the one person who could have taken the Gland out of my head without killing me, my brother Kevin, was murdered, leaving yours truly at the mercy of the Agency who controls the supply of counteragent. Yeah, that’s about it._

\- - -

Darien Fawkes shambled down the hallways of the Agency trying his very hardest to look casual. He could feel the ache starting in the back of his skull, the first prelude to what had come to be known as quicksilver madness. It was his day for a shot, thankfully, but he didn’t want anyone to know just _how_ badly he needed one. If he and Bobby had wasted quicksilver sneaking into another movie or something else equally juvenile, he wouldn’t have had a problem admitting it. Really. But to telling Claire that he had lost control and quicksilvered during the weekend Monster Marathon? He’d never live it down. And if the ‘Fish ever found out, well, he’d probably ban Darien from TV forever. The jerk.

No, the Keep wasn’t much further; Fawkes was sure he could bluff his way through until the Keeper gave him the counteragent. Sweet, cool, burning blue counteragent.

“Aw, crap,” thought Darien, speeding his saunter up to a fast walk. If he was craving counteragent then the madness was closer then he had thought. He reached into his pocket and fumbled for his key card as he approached the Keeper’s door.

\- - -

_Huh, maybe let you go a little early before, you better let me round out my life some._

_Okay, so, right after my brother was killed, I was unceremoniously introduced to the Official, the one in charge of the Agency. He ‘explained’ to me that I could either use the gland in my head to do whatever jobs he and the Agency wanted me to do in return for counteragent shots and a vague promise of maybe someday finding a way to get the gland out of my head without_ killing _me_ or _they could just wait until I became a raving lunatic and take the Gland out anyway. You can imagine that this did not endear me to the fat bastard. The old guy does whatever he needs to do to keep our little under funded Agency afloat, and I do mean just about anything. He’s usually aided and abetted by his slightly overweight assistant Eberts._

_Eberts is a wizard with computers and knows more about filing than everyone else on the planet and- here’s the weird part- he loves it. Naturally he has no social life and very little personality. Still, he and Bobby have this rivalry thing going on, they’re so opposite what could they have to compete over? I really don’t understand it- scratch that- don’t want to understand._

_Bobby? Bobby Hobbes is my partner. He’s a short, bald man with this weird habit of talking about himself in the third person. Then again,_ I _have this weird habit of going invisible- so don’t throw stones and all that. Bobby is also a damn good friend, a sharp agent, who never lets his partner down, and the most paranoid person I’ve ever met- and I used to be a thief- even takes meds for it, as long as someone reminds him to. Still, I can’t seem to find it in me to blame him- hey, if guys really_ are _out to get you, is it still paranoia?_

 _Last but not least there’s Claire, my Keeper. Blond, English, and as smart as they come, not to mention my last remaining hope of removing the Gland. Claire was ‘assigned’ to me shortly after I arrived at the Agency. Actually, the first time we met I was going through her lab trying to steal counteragent, which_ may _have accounted for some of her earlier coldness towards me. Having a red-eyed demon spit unrepeatable things at a person is not the best way to win friends and influence people. It took some see-through spying to even find out her first name, but hey, we’re cool now. In fact, there are times when Bobby and Clair are the only people actually looking out for Darien_ Fawkes _, which is pretty sad you know, if you think about it._

\- - -

“Claire? Hey Keep! Time for my shot,” announced Darien as the thick metal door protecting the Keep slid open. He peered into the perpetually dim interior, desperately trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice as the pounding in the back of his skull grew more intense. “Keep?”

“Over here, Darien,” Claire called back absently. She was the only one to ever pronounce his name quite like that, ‘dar’ instead of ‘dare’. Unfortunately for him, he had more pressing things on his mind this morning.

“Darien, are you alright?” she asked, noticing the tension coiled around him as soon as she turned from her latest samples.

“Yeah, fine,’ he lied, sliding easily onto the demented dentist’s chair that was used for administrating counteragent, “I just want to get this over with.”

“All right, let me see your arm.” He presented his right arm and she moved his watch strap aside to reveal a snake biting its own tail divided into eleven segments, only three of witch were still green, and even as they watched one more faded to red.

“Oh, God,” she whispered unconsciously, “Just hold on Darien. Sit right there and I’ll be back in a second.” He nodded mutely and tried to remain as relaxed and calm as possible, and tried to avoid staring at the tattoo, waiting for the madness.

The tattoo was something Claire, in her genius, had devised. It measured the amount of quicksilver buildup in the blood stream, sort of his own personal count down to lunacy. It wasn’t perfect, and the effects or ‘stages’ of the madness had no real measurable time table, they sometimes started as early as three segments, or as late as one, but the tattoo was an early warning system that helped prevent a lot of potentially unhappy events. Two blocks green is right about the time that events get _very_ unhappy.

“It’s okay Darien, just relax,” soothed Claire as she slipped the needle into his arm. He hadn’t even felt her tie the tourniquet, but he could not miss the familiar and welcome searing, cold blue rush of the counteragent. It was a sort of painful bliss that threatened to steal away his conscious. When he opened his eyes, not more than a few seconds later, Clair was gazing at him in a mixture of concern and reproach.

“You were cutting it a bit close this time, Darien. I certainly hope you and Bobby weren’t using quicksilver irresponsibly again.”

“No…Not this time, Claire.”

“No Spying?” she asked with a hint of a smile.

“Not since last week for the ‘Fish,” replied Darien, completely failing to pick up on her attempt at levity.

“Hmm…” she paused, eyeing him critically. “You’d tell us, Bobby or I, if something was wrong, right Darien?”

“Yeah, sure.” He mumbled, then mustered a bit more enthusiasm, “’Course I would Keep.” _‘As long as it wasn’t something stupid- like letting an old movie scare me see-through’_ he added silently, with a hint of disgust. “So, Claire, any idea what the Official has planned for us this week?”

“Not a clue,” she said, going along with the rather obvious subject change, “and you won’t find out unless you get to the briefing. I think Bobby logged in about an hour ago.”

“Of course he did,” sighed Darien, pulling his lanky friend upright, “see you later Claire!” he called over his shoulder as he headed out of the Keep and up to the Officials office.

\- - -

“Fawkes, nice of you to join us,” greeted the Official with his usual casually biting sarcasm. Darien just nodded absently and folded himself into the chair next to his partner, Hobbes, as the Official glared at them from across the wide expanse of his desk. It was an effect slightly ruined by the stout figure of Eberts hovering in the corner- and ruined even further by Fawkes attempting a mental count of how many times he had seen the ‘Fish _not_ seated behind his desk. He was having trouble getting past five when the Official apparently decided it was time to get things started.

“Eberts!” he barked

“Hem. Yes, here you are,” Eberts said, jerking into action and handing each of the two agents a file, “We have gotten wind of some ivory smugglers that our sponsors at the Bureau of Fish and Game would like us to take care of.”

“Ivory?”

“Yeah, Fawkes, like elephants.”

“I _know_ what ivory is, Hobbes-”

“What it is, gentlemen,” interrupted the Official brusquely, “is illegal. You two are going to stop it.”

“Oh, well that’s just great- as far as that gets us,” started Darien, miffed at the Official cutting off what could have evolved into a classic Hobbes/Fawkes act, “any idea where we are going to start?”

“We have a contact inside the smuggling ring,” responded Eberts, apparently oblivious to any of the sarcasm and ill feelings emanating from the erstwhile invisible man. “You are to meet him at nine on the corner of Fourth and Cherry.” There was a short silence.

“Well, get going!” barked the Official.

\- - -

“Okay, Fawkes, you know the drill- when this guy shows I do the talking, right Darien? Right?”

“Right, Hobbes,” said Darien suppressing the urge to roll his eyes as he slid into the passenger seat of the Agency’s tan, windowless van. Honestly! Fawkes was amazed every time the thing actually started, but whenever he expressed his amazement Hobbes chewed him out. Apparently cursing out the hunk of junk, sometimes mistaken for a vehicle, was reserved for Bobby Hobbes alone. Besides, there was no practical point in complaining because the ‘Fish was far too cheap to _ever_ spring for a new one.

They drove to the rendezvous point in silence. Darien was staring absently out the window, still annoyed at his close run-in with QMS that morning. Hobbes knew that something had happened, Fawkes usually didn’t know when to shut up, but he kept his peace concentrated on the road; it wouldn’t take Fawkes long to shake off his mood and start bantering.

The partners parked the van and left it in a lot a street or so from the contact point. No doubt they would have presented an odd sight, an overly tall young man with a thick, styled head of hair, dressed in what looked like refuse from a flea market, walking beside a short balding man in a suit, but no one seemed to think so. In fact, there really wasn’t anyone around _to_ notice- the street was oddly devoid of life.

“Um, hey Hobbes?” Darien asked, breaking off from their usual stream of silence filling banter to peer at the dilapidated buildings around them, “are you sure that we’re in the right place? I mean, I thought that spies only met in these types of places in old movies.”

“Oh no, my friend. For one thing, we are _agents_ not spies-’

“What? Like there’s a difference?”

“For your information there is a huge amount of difference. But the secondly, and more importantly-”

“Oh, this is going to be good,” quipped Darien in a stage whisper.

“ _More importantly_ Bobby Hobbes does not make mistakes,” finished Bobby, ignoring Darien’s skeptical look. “Besides, there’s still a lot about this business that you don’t understand.”

“Really?’ asked Darien sarcastically, “I’ll have to keep that in mind.” Still, he found himself unable to shake the odd feeling of suspicion, “been hanging around Hobbes too long…” he mumbled to himself.

They made it to the corner of Fourth and Cherry in plenty of time and loitered around the boarded up storefront for a while. Darien pulled out a Snickers bar and split it with Bobby. The argument about who got the larger half kept them occupied for a while. Then they played a game of twenty questions; Darien won. Finally they both checked their watches. The supposed contact was over twenty minutes late and the unnatural emptiness of the area was getting to both of them.

“Alright, here’s the deal, Fawkes, we do a quick sweep of the area. If we don’t find anyone or anything we go back to the ‘Fish and tell him his guy was a no-show, ‘kay?”

“Sure, okay, good,” said Darien nodding and heading down the street. He’d had enough of this particular assignment. He knew it was a horrible cliché, but he just had a bad feeling about this whole day.

He hadn’t gone too far when he spotted a black SUV parked behind the remains of a restaurant. It was definitely a newer model, very much out of place, and definitely enough to catch his attention. Darien ducked back around the building and quicksilvered for a closer, less visible, view. He was able to make his noiseless way right up to the vehicle and peer into the tinted windows. There was no sign of the tied up contact he had half expected to find- or anything else suspicious for that matter, so he turned around intending to meet back up with Bobby. What he met instead were the barrels of several guns aimed directly at his still invisible heart.

“Aw, crap,” he muttered as he felt something small and metallic impact his chest. The last thing he heard was the sound of quicksilver chiming musically as it fell to the ground.

Bobby Hobbes did not wait for just anyone. For his partner he waited five minutes, then set off in the direction Fawkes had been heading. _‘Sure, we can’t all be as good as Bobby Hobbes, but how long does it take to make one short sweep?’_ Bobby asked himself silently as he trudged down the street. He only made it a few feet around the corner when a glint of reflected light drew his attention across the street. It could have been nothing, just some broken glass or shiny metal, but instinct urged him to take a closer look.

It was quicksilver. Flakes of the stuff stuck around for a day or two before disintegrating. The only way quicksilver could have ended up out here was if Fawkes had done his little disappearing act, and he only would have done _that_ if he had seen something suspicious. Considering that there was nothing here now and Darien wasn’t to be found… oh, this was bad.

Taking a quick look around Bobby could tell that there had been a large vehicle, probably a van or an SUV, parked there recently. The ground wasn’t all that readable, but something or someone had been dragged through the quicksilver slivers and around to the trunk- or the front, but the former was more probable. All that and no Darien led Bobby to one inescapable conclusion- someone was Gland hunting.

\- - -

Darien woke up in a strait jacket. Which, honestly, wasn’t such a weird thing. It had happened more times than he cared to remember. His first frantic thought was that he had gone QMS on someone. He vaguely remembered not feeling well that morning and his head certainly hurt enough. But that didn’t make sense, because, where was Claire, and where was the counteragent, and where was the residual sting in his arm or neck from the needle? In fact, the only place that hurt, besides his head, was his chest. Now _that_ stung. Wait a second… it all came flooding back in a rush, the rendezvous! Those guys must have been waiting for him. The only way they could have seen him while he was invisible was if their sunglasses where actually thermal. And the only reason to bring along fancy thermal glasses during the day, in Darien’s experience, was if you where going to be looking for an invisible man whose exterior temperature just happened to dip below freezing when quicksilvered. He stood out like a neon sign through those things. Oh yeah. This sort of thing may have happened once before. Maybe two times. Or three…billion.

Darien sighed deeply and squirmed upright, rolling his shoulder blades in an attempt to loosen the stiff fabric and ease his aching head. It wasn’t a quicksilver headache, that was obvious now, but that didn’t stop it from hurting like hell. Whatever was in that dart they shot him with sure was nasty. Looking around Darien saw that he definitely wasn’t in the Agency’s now familiar padded room, or in any padded room for that matter. Instead he had been thrown into the corner of a small gray four by five cell with absolutely no ornamentation. For a guy who was resting easily on the far side of the six-foot mark this could prove to be increasingly uncomfortable. He was just glad he hadn’t had a lot to drink.

\- - -

Bobby’s return, without Fawkes in tow, caused something of an uproar at the Agency. Fawkes, or more accurately, the Glad currently in Fawkes’ head, represented seven billion dollars of research and experimentation. He was also the Agency’s ace in the hole- the one thing that gave them an edge over the other Agencies, and, consequently, was what brought in all those case rewards that kept them out of the red. Needless to say, the Official was _far_ less then pleased. He threatened Bobby with all manner of horrible thing- not least of which was cutting his paycheck. Hobbes got this treatment every time Darien was MIA and he still couldn’t help but flinch when his minimal salary was threatened. Still he kept his peace until the Official and Eberts got all the yelling and stressing, respectively, more or less out of their systems and started to coordinate the actual retrieval operation.

Bobby and Claire would head back to the sight of the kidnapping- naturally the ‘Fish wouldn’t hear of bringing in the local police, but he did send several agents out to search the city. The Official himself pulled out his extensive list of contacts to find out why he hadn’t been aware of this latest bid for his invisible man, while he sent Eberts to dig through the records room for any hint of who the perpetrators could be.

As far as Bobby Hobbes was concerned, Darien’s fate rested squarely in his and Claire’s hands. His experience with the Agency’s other agents, their ‘safety net’, had left him with something less then a glowing opinion of their abilities. He supposed that the ‘Fish -or Eberts- might come up with something, but he didn’t really trust all those files- or Eberts. _‘What kind of a name is_ Eberts _anyway? How could you trust a guy named Eberts? The dorky little-’_ he stopped his mental tangent before it could get away from him. The truth was he couldn’t do all that sitting around and so didn’t trust anyone who could. Except Claire, of course. He trusted Claire.

As soon as he pulled up, careful to stay well clear of the area the struggle took place in, Claire was out of the vehicle and taking her samples. Bobby let her do her thing as he started circling outward, looking carefully for anything he could have missed earlier. Just before he stepped onto the street he was struck by a sudden thought and stopped cold.

“Hey, Claire? How was Fawkes set up, you know, time wise?” he asked, holding up his right arm and tapping the inside of his wrist for emphasis. Claire caught his meaning immediately and was quick to assure him.

“He should be fine for a while; he just got a shot this morning. As long as he doesn’t quicksilver he’ll be fine for at least another six days.” Bobby nodded absently as he crossed the street to the building across the way, barely feeling any relief. ‘ _As long as he doesn’t quicksilver_ ’ Claire had said. With Darien that was like saying ‘ _as long as the sun doesn’t rise_ ’- sooner or later you were out of time. His morose thoughts were broken by the ringing of Claire’s cell.

“Hello? Yes, this is the Keeper, what is it Eberts?” Bobby pricked up his ears and slid back across the street. “Really? Oh my- they didn’t say anything el- No, we’re done here, we’ll be back as soon as we can.” She hung up the phone and turned to find Bobby standing not a few feet from her. “That was the Official. He got a call. Concerning Darien.” That was all he needed to hear. They were back in the van and heading toward the Agency before a minute had passed. Bobby Hobbes would always be there for his partner.

\- - -

It was hard to tell in there, but Darien would have guessed that he’d been sitting in his cell, trying to quote Hamlet from memory, for well over an hour when they first came in. Whoever these guys were, he didn’t know them. They looked way too old to be Chrysalis, they weren’t Chinese, and Arnoue would have turned up to gloat by now. Some one new then. Unfortunately, they all seemed to use the same greeting and no one was very interested in introductions. All the breath left him as he doubled over and he wished he had just stayed seated when the door had opened, then he was dragged roughly into the corridor.

“Hey, now, guys,” he wheezed unable to stop himself, “is this anyway to treat a guest?” All he got by way of reply was a backhand that promised a wonderful bruise later on. “Just trying to be friendly…” he mumbled before being shoved forward and falling silent.

He was led, pushed, and prodded into a large, plush office. After the starkness of his cell for the last few hours, the opulence of this pocket of the facility almost blinded him. _‘Obviously the head honcho,’_ thought Darien glancing around furtively, ‘ _I suppose it’s too much to ask that I’m just here for an apology.’_ The guards gave him one last shove and, without his arms to steady him, he tumbled unceremoniously into the empty chair that had been placed in the middle of the room. _‘It figures,’_ he groaned silently to himself as the hard wood and sharply carved designs threatened to impale him. _‘A room full of velvet and leather, and I get stuck with the wooden maiden.’_ His attention, however, was quickly drawn away from his discomforts by the entrance of an imposing older man whose demeanor told everyone- without question- that this was _his_ office and _his_ show.

If Darien was to guess he would say that the man was around the Official’s age, though in much better shape. In fact, he wouldn’t want to go up against this guy- at least not without the advantage of quicksilver as well as a dangerously armed Hobbes at his back.

The older man lowered himself into the imperiously high-backed chair, and Fawkes found himself experiencing a strange feeling of déjà vu as a cold pair of blue eyes glared at him from across a wide expanse of desk. The Official had done almost the same thing just this morning- at least- Fawkes assumed it had only been this morning, he didn’t feel hungry enough for it to have been much longer. He would have checked to tattoo to try and gage the time, but he was currently wearing a straight jacket which did make it rather difficult.

The Man behind the desk shifted and Darien was jerked out of his semi-daze. He couldn’t believe he had been able to zone out in that room, on that chair. If he had been able to he would have rubbed his chest as he hoped whatever sedative they shot him with didn’t have any unpleasant after effects. The Man did not say a word to his prisoner; he just picked up an old-fashioned rotary telephone from the corner of his desk and slowly spun his way through a number. Darien strained to see the number dialed but quickly gave up the idea when a guard moved menacingly in his direction. Still, he didn’t have to worry for long. After a few seconds the mysterious Man asked someone for:

“The Official please, tell him it concerns his I-Man project.” There was another pause, short, but long enough for one erstwhile Invisible Man to drive himself near crazy with possibilities. “Charles Borden, it’s been a long time. No don’t say a word- it’s my turn. I know all about your invisible asset, now _I_ have acquired it and it is now mine to dispose of. Seven billion dollars Charlie- who would have thought your pocketbook could open so far? What? Of course I have him. You don’t believe an old friend? I’m hurt, but if you really need proof…” he motioned to Darien who was completely at a loss- until a fist connected with the side of his head and another in the ribs. It was so unexpected that he didn’t even attempt to muffle his groan, instead he fought down the wave of anger and fear that threatened to let lose the quicksilver flow.

“Still not convinced?” asked his captor. The guard beside Darien flicked out a switchblade and gashed open his arm. The cut wasn’t deep but it hurt like hell and Fawkes gasped out a much louder and more identifying yell.

“All you had to do was ask,” moaned Darien sarcastically trying to press the wound against his cloth-covered chest. It wasn’t loud enough to carry through the phone line but the Man glared at him just the same, making him flinch in anticipation of a blow that never came.

“But don’t think that I’m completely unfair,” continued the Man without incident, “If you can find him, you can have him- for all the good it will do you. So, tell me Charles, you always had the right answers, how does one find an invisible man?” He set the phone back in its cradle and glazed coldly at Darien.

“Nothing personal, Mr. Fawkes,” said the nameless Man as casually as was possible, “but if you play with Charles Borden, you have to hit him where it hurts- his wallet. You just happen to have the misfortune of being his single greatest investment.” Darien’s eyes burned with anger as he cradled his arm, but he could not think of a single retort.

\- - -

“Those sons of…” trailed off Bobby angrily after hearing the recording. Claire placed a restraining hand on his arm before turning a professional face to the Official.

“Do we know where he is?”

“Not yet,” grunted the Official, “but Eberts is sorting out the data we collected from the phone trace. We’ll know soon.” At that very moment Eberts practically fell into the office stumbling under a load of files the Official had requested. Claire rushed to assist him while Hobbes just stood to the side and smirked slightly, happy to be even a little bit distracted by the other man’s plight. Once everything had been set safely on the Official’s desk, no time was wasted.

“Eberts! Report!”

“Yes sir. Whoever did this was very good. They had the signal bouncing all over the place, but I have managed to pin it down. The call came from the ShadowFax Technologies warehouse at this address,” he said, pointing out the relevant information, “It’s a private company that seems to be legit… but I’m having trouble tracking down the owner.”

“Never mind that now, Eberts,” replied the Official briskly. “Hobbes, take a few men and get down there.’ Bobby nodded and stood.

“I’m going with him,” said Claire.

“Now Keep-” started Hobbes.

“No, Bobby, we don’t know what they did to him. You may very well need my help.”

“Go,” said the Official, and they went.

\- - -

After a short silence, Darien was ‘escorted’ out of the room. He tripped over a small table and, without his hands, went sprawling. The guards hit him for his trouble, but they failed to notice the pen he managed to slip into the folded material between his arms. And Kevin had thought that being a thief was good for nothing.

Later in his cell he worked the pen around to his back and used his tenuous grip to work loose the straps. After an extended period of struggling he finally wiggled free of the hated jacket, though he had to dislocate his shoulder to do it. After popping his joint back into place he picked up the Darien-saving pen and striped it down. He was very glad that this door had locks on both sides, though it was rather careless of his captors. Maybe they thought a person in a strait jacket was incapable of picking a lock. Obviously they had never met Darien Fawkes- _‘Whoa,’_ though Darien, _‘been around Hobbes_ way _too long.’_

The lock clicked and he ‘silvered before slipping into the hall. _‘Score one for the Fawkes,’_ he crowed silently as he made his way toward where he hoped the exit was located. In fact he was sure he saw daylight ahead. Darien sped up and rounded the corner, wanting nothing more then to get out of this place and back to his own messed up version of a life. Unfortunately, he plowed right into the Man and his goons. He fell to the floor, quicksilver flaking off in surprise.

“Well, well, Mr. Fawkes, you are far more inventive then we gave you credit for,” said the Man- then there was a sharp pain and everything went black.

Darien opened his eyes blearily to find himself lying on the jolting floor of some vehicle. His strait jacket was still gone, but it had been replaced by hand cuffs, tight and secured behind his back.

“Wha-” he asked, still somewhat disoriented.

“Mister Fawkes, you join us once again,” observed the Man pleasantly, “Your agency friends have no doubt traced my call so I decided that it was time to move you to your final destination. Heh, it’s not like that,” he laughed coldly as Darien’s eyes widened slightly in alarm, “Cold blooded murder is so unimaginative and so…messy. I let others do _that_ kind of work. Except on the most special of occasions. Besides, I said I’d give the Agency a chance at reclaiming their property, did I not? –Ah, we’re here,” he said as the vehicle pulled to a stop. The two gaurds jumped out of the front and pulled Darien roughly out of the van and pushed him into a small building on a deserted side street. Fawkes still wasn’t sure how he had ended up there, though the fuzziness in his head suggested another drug- he was enough of a pin cushion normally, and he could really do without the bad guys sticking holes in him as well. His runaway train of thought was broken as he passed through the doorway.

The shop extended much further back then it first appeared. In fact it was divided into a series of sub rooms that all displayed… mirrors. It was almost like a bizarrely normal fun house with mirrors of all shapes, sizes, and frames crammed onto every wall and table space available. This was defiantly a very odd place to hold a prisoner- or to kill one.

Once they had gone a significant way into the store, and the mirrors had confused whatever sense of direction and/or reality Fawkes had managed to retain during this crazy day, goon number one jerked him to a halt and pulled his cuffed hands roughly up, grinding his shoulder joints uncomfortably. Goon two held a gun on him as goon one kept a firm hand on his painfully stressed shoulder, jointly rendering invisibility more or less useless. The Man brought out a set of worrying manacles which he strapped to a very strong looking metal bar firmly planted into the wall at intervals. Several hefty looking mirrors were displayed on it further down but Darien had a space all to himself. How special.

Even after he was all strung up with his feet barely resting on the floor, he still managed a dramatic sigh.

“So, what now?” he asked, not sure he wanted to know the answer but asking none the less.

“Now you wait,” replied the Man.

“For what?” ventured Darien suspiciously.

“For the madness, of course. You see, these cuffs monitor the quicksilver in your blood and when it gets high enough they will release you, with a parting gift.”

“So your going to leave me here for six days?” he asked, though a furtive look at his tattoo told him it would be more like five, maybe four, “You don’t think that the Agency will find me by then?”

“Well, yes and no. You see your still missing the best part. The Agency will find you, then they’ll kill you. I do so hate to have blood on my hands.”

“They- they wouldn’t do that,” protested Fawkes, thinking of Hobbes and Claire. They wouldn’t let the Official do anything rash, not now, not after all this time... Right?

“They would if they had to, and that is just what this beauty is for,” he said, pulling a large syringe out of his suit. “I know that the Gland is activated by the secretion of adrenaline and other hormones, so I thought I’d give you this as a sort of jump start.”

“Hey- Hey, stop that!” cried Darien, struggling to get away but unable to move very far. As soon as the injection hit his blood stream he could feel his heart race increase. The fight or flight instinct was trying to assert itself, and the quicksilver was responding, attempting to break from his control and flow over his skin.

“You won’t get away with this,” Darien managed to get out.

“Really Mr. Fawkes, if I had a nickel for every time someone said that to me I would have built my own invisible man by now.” He laughed as Darien lost control of his breathing and quicksilver seeped and flowed its reflective way across his skin. “Now, according to my information you have just about a half hour of sanity left, I suggest that you savor it.” With that he and his goons departed, leaving Darien to watch a thousand reflections of himself slowly fade from view.

\- - -

“It’s deserted, sir. That’s right, everything cleared out,” Hobbes replied standing in the middle of an incredibly empty ShadowFax Electronics building. Most of the structure was what one would expect, but some of the back ‘offices’ contained several blank cells and the remnants of quickly cleared labs of dubious purpose. But no Darien Fawkes.

“They must have moved out right after they called. No, I don’t know where to,” he said, only restraining his temper by remembering that this was the man who signed his paychecks.

“Bobby!” cried Claire, “Take a look at this.” She handed him a sheet of ShadowFax stationary that had ‘Mirror, Mirror’ written on it in silver ink. A more blatant and obvious lure they could not have hoped for.

“Scratch that Chief- have Eberts look for anything ShadowFax Technologies might have to do with mirrors. Of course, I have a good reason, Eberts! Just do it!” There was a lengthy pause, then Hobbes scribbled down an address. “You sure Eberts? Fine. Got it.” He hung up and turned to Claire, “Grab your stuff Keep, we’re out of here.”

\- - -

There is no color to be found in eyes covered with quicksilver, and Darien was adrift is a land of gray seamed with glinting silver. Sometimes it was an oddly beautiful way to view the world. Unfortunately, its beauty was always, always laced with danger and apprehension. Every second meant that he was that much closer to losing control, and now he _could not_ shut off the gland. He was trying, he was trying so hard, he hung from the wall trying to relax, calm himself down, stop the quicksilver from coming, compose himself before continued use of the Gland pushed him into madness. But it was if a valve had been opened in his brain and he knew, deep down that he was doomed to fail.

The strain on his wrists finally started to distract him, the pain sneaking past the adrenalin rush. He stood in an attempt to find relief, tugging slightly on his chains in a vain hope of gaining some extra slack. No such luck.

A searing pain stabbed through the back of his skull and his legs went out from under him. He wanted to curl up and wrap his hands around the back of his neck to try and dim the pain. The madness wasn’t playing around this time. Fawkes moaned piteously as the pain came again.

“Hobbes? Claire?” he called in despair, “Anyone…” He felt a rage quickly building inside him, something curling around his gut so strongly that if he did not let it out it would surly kill him. He threw himself violently against his bonds wrenching his wrists against the chains until they bled.

“GET ME OUT!” He screamed to the empty building. Darien stopped abruptly. He was losing control. He had attained nothing other then to injure himself and give the Gland yet more adrenalin to feed off of. He knew that he had to stay calm, to fight this. He knew that, but at the same time he could feel all the anger, hurt, and resentment that he kept locked away in the dark corners of his otherwise congenial mind. Anger at the Official for using the counteragent to blackmail him, anger at his brother for putting the Gland in his head, anger at the Man for doing this to him, even anger at Bobby and Claire for not finding him.

He could feel it, and it. wanted. out.

\- - -

Hobbes entered the store carefully, gun drawn. He wasn’t sure what he was going to find, other then a mirror store, still the hundred Hobbes looking back at him was beginning to disturb him.

“Come on in Keep,” he whispered, “nothing here but mirrors.”

“Oh, wow,” uttered Claire as she followed Bobby, tranquilizer ready and loaded in her gun. “I didn’t think there would be so many.” She said gazing at the myriad of fractured and repeated images the mirror-covered surfaces presented. She paused, trying to make sense of it all. “No sign of Darien?”

“No, but no sign of anyone else either, I was sure this would be a trap. Why else- Hey, Keep, you hear that?”

“What?”

“That noise, like clanking.”

“I…I don’t think so,” she said after a moment’s hesitation.

“No, it’s stopped now. Come on, I think it was this way,” he replied as he led her down one of the rows leading further back into the store. Hobbes didn’t like this place; he knew that there were no unfriendlies outside the building and could find no evidence of guards or look outs. There were no cars nearby and he had other agency men stationed around the perimeter. Never-the-less, all those reflections were creeping him out, moving around at the edge of his vision and giving away his position. Still, it increased the chance that Darien would see them sooner, or that they would see Darien. If he was still here.

A clatter of falling metal and a familiar agonized moan called Hobbes’ attention over to their left.

“Darien?” called Claire before Bobby could stop her.

“Claire?” His voice was strained and weak, but it was definately Darien.

“Hey partner, where are you?” asked Hobbes, still trying to keep his voice down.

“Over here,” gritted out Darien, trying to force the madness from his mind.

“Where? I can’t see you. You okay? You don’t sound so good.”

“Quicksilvered.”

“Well, drop it. It’s just us,” Hobbes said, moving forward slowly.

“I can’t,” responded Darien, “He gave me…too much…adrenaline…”

“Oh, no,” gasped Claire

“Wha, what?” asked Hobbes, still in the dark.

“Theoretically, if you injected Darien with enough adrenaline then he would lose control of the Gland.”

“They can do that?”

“Apparently. We have to find Darien right now. Darien?” she called. “It’s going to be okay. I have the counteragent, we just need to find you. Can you make some noise?” The faint clanking started again, though much louder now.

“This way,” said Bobby, adjusting their course and leading the way. When Claire heard him mumble, ‘I’d like to shoot the bastard that thought hiding an invisible man in a house of mirrors was funny’, she couldn't help but agree.

“Guys, you’ve got to hurry, I- I can’t- Arrrgh!” screamed Darien. There was silence except for a soft panting.

“Darien, listen to me, just try again to shed the quicksilver, please!” implored Claire, voice full of concern.

“Nooo. I don’t think I want to.” Claire felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. She could not see him, could not check his tattoo or see his eyes, but his words and voice told her more then anything else could- Darien had entered stage two of quicksilver madness. Of course she could never tell anyone, but being Darien’s Keeper scared her. He was usually such a gentle person- until stage two of the madness robed him of all his compassion, giving him a falsely calm, even cold, demeanor that was wont to give way to extreme violence at the least provocation. She made sure the syringe of counteragent was ready to go.

“Come on, Fawkes,” coaxed Hobbes, also realizing what had taken place, “you need to fight this thing. Just let us find you and we’ll take care of it.”

“Bobby, look,” whispered Claire softly. Over near the wall, under a blank space where a mirror may once have hung, small droplets of silver fell from nowhere and landed on the floor, silver shell falling away and forming a slowly spreading red stain. Obviously Darien had been injured.

“Thanks anyway, Hobbes,” said Darien casually not hearing or paying no attention to Claire, “but I'm almost out and I don't think you want to be round me when I am.” There was a straining and a snapping noise followed by a reverberating clang noise as the bar that had been supporting Darien's weight fell to he floor.

Claire nudged Bobby as line of slowly appearing silver spots circled around them. Suddenly an invisible force knocked both gun and syringe out of Claire’s grasp and Bobby was pushed away from her, and away from his gun.

“Darien,” she said carefully, eyes searching for the tell-tail sheen of falling quicksilver, “I can help if you'll just let me.

“No!” growled Darien somewhere to her right, “Stay away from me!” It wasn't at all how stage two usually affected him. Claire guessed that it as probably some last ditch attempt by the 'real' Darien to protect them, to try to get them away from him. She would have to remember to feel touched later.

She kept her eyes on where she assumed Darien had been and snatched back up the counteragent.

“Darien, listen to me- I have the counteragent. I know that you want it, and I’ll give it to you, just as soon as you un-silver.”

“I don’t want the counteragent!” yelled Darien roughly- but that was a lie. He did want it. He wanted it and he hated it. It kept him tied to the Agency, chained down by their rules. When he was QMS he was free, he could do anything and it was fine. Nothing he did was wrong, could ever be wrong. But it was so tempting, like cool blue water it a desert. He licked his lips as he stared at the vial and without him realizing it the quicksilver finally fell away.

“Fawkes,” gasped Hobbes, getting back his wind and inching toward his gun, “come on, buddy…” the unexpected sound seemed to jar the formerly invisible man. His red eyes widened as another quicksilver headache hit him. Claire saw her chance and lunged forward hoping to get the needle into a vein before Darien recovered his balance. No such luck. Just inches from breaking the skin, Darien’s hand caught her wrist and halted her movement. His terrifying eyes met hers and, for a moment, all he wanted to do was beak her arm and hear her scream.

With a huge effort and a strangled cry, he jerked back his hand and the needle sank into his skin. The blue liquid burned its way through his veins- it felt so good. He heard a mental scream of anguish from his own personal demon as it was exorcised by the counteragent. Darien come to himself long enough to think _‘thank God’_ before he drifted off into blackness.

Claire managed to catch Darien as he slumped to the ground, but his weight made it impossible for her to keep him upright and they both slid to the floor.

“Bobby, help me with him, please.” She and Hobbes managed to roll Fawkes off her and onto the floor. Flipping into Keeper mode Claire careful checked both his tattoo and his eyes, confirming that the counteragent had done its work. She then turned his attention to the manacles still secured around his wrists. Now there was something strange. She guessed that they were electronic in nature, as she could find no mechanical mechanism that could unlock them, but neither could she find any sort of access port or keypad. She figured that they must operate on some kind of remote, but she couldn't do anything about them here. They’d just have to stay on until they got Darien to the Keep.

Speaking of Darien, it seemed that he was beginning to recover from his latest bout with counteragent because he was feebly trying to tug the chains out of her hands.

“Darien, it’s okay, it’s just Hobbes and I,” Claire reassured soothingly.

“Hobbes?”

“Right here, partner.”

“Oh thank--...No one got hurt?”

“Naw, you went down easy this time,” assured Hobbes breezily. Darien nodded absently then grimaced, pulling his ravaged arms toward the imagined comfort of his body.

“Oh Darien, I'm sorry. Look, I need to get you back to the Keep and then I can fix you up. Do you think you can stand?” Darien nodded again. “Good. Okay Bobby, let’s get him up.”

It was awkward, to say the least, for the two of them, who’s heights added together barely topped ten feet, to support the six-something Darien, but they managed to keep him upright until they reached the shop's exit. From there the other agents helped them get Darien safely bundled into the back of Hobbes’ van and they all high-tailed it back to the Agency. The erstwhile invisible man dozed most of the way back, only truly wakening up when they reached the Keep.

Fawkes slid gratefully into the exam chair accompanied by the faint jangle of chains from his wrists. He never figured that he would be relived to sit in this chair. He went to put one hand over his eyes only to be smacked in the face by the dangling manacle.

“Hey, um, Claire, do you think you could get rid of these for me?”

“One thing at a time, Darien, let me clean up your arm first, okay?”

“Sure,” replied Darien as the Keeper took a hold of his arm. He'd almost forgotten about the gash he had received earlier that day- but he was painfully reminded of it as Claire poured on the disinfectant. Apparently she decided that stitches were not needed, for which Darien was very thankful, and she bound the wound up in gauze. She also cleaned out the rather ragged cuts that the cuffs and his crazed struggles had inflicted on his wrists, though the ever more annoying manacles prevented her from doing more.

“Does anything else hurt, Darien? Ribs, head?”

“No, nothing much. Just some bruises, I think. I'll be fine, Keep.”

“Well, we'll see. What about these restraints? Do you know anything about them?”

“The Man, the one in charge, he said something about quicksilver madness... I think that he wanted to turn me loose... force the Agency to deal with me, or kill me.”

“That doesn't make sense,” Claire said, puzzled, “Surely he knows that we would just give you the counteragent?”

“I don't know,” responded Darien dejectedly.

“What does it matter, Keep?” asked Hobbes, wandering over from another part of the lab. “The guy was obviously loony. How does that help?”

“Well, the manacles must have a way to monitor the quicksilver levels in your blood stream. It would do him no good it you were quicksilver mad but stayed locked up.” Both men looked at her askance. “Well, yes, I know that you did not _stay_ locked up, but I'm assuming he wasn't counting on you yanking yourself free. I can't believe you managed it at all. Even with the extra adrenalin and the effects of QSM- you’re just lucky you didn't break something. Hmm, no, he would definitely need a transmitting monitor of some kind...” All three were silent for a moment, and then all looked at the tattoo on Darien's wrist.

“Right. That would work,” acknowledged Claire. “I still have the prototype monitor. We may be able to trick the sensors into releasing Darien,” she continued as she dug through her drawers. “Ah, here it is. I'm afraid that I'll need some quicksilver Darien.” He took the proffered petri dish and allowed the quicksilver to flow through his hand and drip out his finger, pooling at the bottom of the container.

“Perfect,” said Claire dropping in the flat, glowing green rectangle into the mercury-esque looking liquid. As soon as the indicator hit it turned from green to red. The Keeper moved the glowing red chip as close to the cuffs as she could, hoping that the nearer signal would override the real one. There was a weird grinding sound. Darien yelped, and the restraints fell away.

“Ow! I think they stuck me with something, Keep.” Clair gathered up the manacles and peered at the insides. Sure enough there were a pair of small needles that could easily have slid into the wrists.

“Here, Bobby, disinfect and wrap Darien's wrists for me. I'm going to need a sample of this.” Darien and Hobbes managed a passable job at bandaging, then fell into one of their signature, meaningless conversations. Claire smiled to herself as she went about her work. Some days it drove her crazy, but right now it was nice to have their inane background noise again.

She had extracted a minute amount of liquid from the manacles and was running it through a series of analyses to discover what it was composed of when she registered the abrupt drop in the ambient noise level of the lab.

“Keep? Keep, something not right here,” said Bobby worriedly. Claire peered over her shoulder and back into the main lab. Darien was hunched over in the chair, one hand griping the back of his neck.

“Darien... Darien, look at me,” demanded Claire gently. He obediently raised his eyes and she stifled a small gasp when she found them threaded with red veins. “Bobby, what happened?”

“We were just playing some tic-tac-toe when he starts getting all distracted. Next thing I know, he folds up on me.”

“This isn't right,” Claire mumbled, shaking her head. “There is no way he could have built up an immunity to the counteragent already- it has to have been the cuffs.”

“So...,” hedged Bobby impatiently, “why don't you just give him another shot?”

“I can't risk it, not until I know what's going on.”

“He's going to go crazy, that's what's going on!” threw back Hobbes, worry making his tone more sharp and hurtful then he meant.

“Bobby, if I don't know what they used then the counteragent may just make things worse. Besides, I only have one more dose and the next batch won't be done for a few days at least. We can't afford to waste it.”

“Guys” Dairen gasped, drawing their attention back to him. “I, uh, think I need to be locked up…Now!

\- - -

The world was white with but a single patch of gray. Darien turned his back on the obsequious gray patch, which he knew to be a one-way mirror, and curled up facing the wall. He was back in a strait jacket, back to waiting.

He really hated this room.

\- - -

Claire worked as quickly as possible. Bobby had been in a few moments before and had said that Darien had entered stage two already and was raving at the walls threatening to kill them all. Not unusual- but it was always disturbing to hear it coming from the normally gentle Darien. She had discovered that the chemical Darien was injected with worked as an inhibitor- one specially tailored to nullify the counteragent and free up the quicksilver to flood the body. Now her task was to put together a concoction that would break up the inhibitor and allow the counteragent to do its work.

\- - -

Darien wanted a knife or a gun. Or a brick. Anything that would get him out of this damn white room- and kill everyone who put him there. The fact that he told them, demanded them to, no longer mattered. He alternated between staring at his own red eyes in the mirror and throwing himself against the padded door. Eventually he would get out.

\- - -

Claire had the answer, she was sure of it. She filled two syringes, one with the new formula and the other with the last of the counteragent. _'This had better work,'_ she thought desperately.

Someone was entering his prison. Someone always did, eventually.

The short bald man and the blond doctor. They closed the door behind them. The man had a gun and she had the counteragent. He knew she did, he could smell it. He stood up slowly, almost ponderously, and let the quicksilver flow over him. He vaguely remembered trying to stop that from happening before, but he couldn't remember why.

“Fawkes, come on buddy, don't do this,” groaned the man, no longer sure where to point his gun.

“I just need to give you a couple shots, then you can go.” That was the woman. He slid around the side of them, wishing he had his hands free. If he did then he would have been able to properly punish them for leaving him there. Sure they said that they cared about him, but they didn't-not really- and now they brought that sweet blue liquid that would make him believe them again.

If only his hands were free. Still, hands weren't everything.

Claire was trying to listen for Darin's soft tread on the padded floor, or to feel the cold chill that permeated the air around his quicksilvered form. She was taken completely by surprise when Hobbes was suddenly knocked off his feet.

“Fawkes! Come on, Darien, don't do this buddy. We're just trying to help!” cried Bobby as he attempted to shove his invisible opponent off of him. He was thankful that his gun had fallen free of the pair. He wouldn't be able to get it, but then neither would Darien. He figured he'd take what he could get.

“Help?” snarled Darien from somewhere above him.

“That's right, buddy, you just have to fight this thing and everything will be alright- ack!” Darien de-silvered abruptly and the reason for Hobbes’ sudden silence was made painfully clear: Darien had one knee resting on the shorter agent’s neck and growled in anger as he increased the pressure.

“I want out of here!” he rasped in Hobbes’ ear, then noticed that Hobbes was no longer looking at him. He tried to whip around but it was too late, the Keeper had already stuck him with the first needle.

Claire waited a tense moment and nothing happened. Darien let out a growl and his red eyes promised pain as she pulled out the syringe and retreated a step. She scrambled for the counteragent, hoping it would knock out the QMS long enough for Bobby and her to get out. Then Darien cried out in pain and slid over sideways, releasing Hobbes and landing hard with no arms to catch him. He curled up into the fetal position as fire rushed through his system- not the sweet burning of the counteragent but the acid burning of flames.

“Ow, ow, ow,” whimpered Darien pitifully as Bobby retrieved his gun and his breath.

“Fawkes?” asked Hobbes, looking suspiciously at the other’s still red eyes.

“Hobbes, wha- arg!” yelped the prone man, arms jerking and head thrown back in an instinctual effort to ease the pain at the base of his skull- the quicksilver was not done with him yet.

“Help me Bobby,” said Claire as she tried to roll him over. Between the two of them they managed to get Darien the counteragent he needed.

“He'll be fine,” sighed Claire in relief.

“Yeah. Let's get him out of all this before he wakes up,” said Bobby looking at the strait jacket and their current surroundings with disgust.

“Good idea,” agreed Claire, sitting the unconscious man up so they could release the restraining buckles.

\- - -

Darien awoke back in the Keep. He glanced around cautiously and, seeing no bad guys, needles, mirrors, or white walls, he attempted to sit up.

“Darien,” said Claire in delight as she noticed his movement.

“Hey, Keeper,” he responded, slightly slurred, “Where’s Hobbes?”

“Reporting to the Official.”

“So he's okay. I mean I didn't hurt him or-or you?”

“No Darien, he's fine and I'm fine.”

“And what about me? I'm not going to...” he trailed off, making a half-hearted gesture with one hand.

“No, you're fine, too, Darien. I fixed everything up and you're right as rain. That man knew what he was doing though. His information on the Gland and counteragent must have been unbelievably precise. He actually managed to suppress the counteragent- it's a good thing that we gave you a shot before we got the manacles off. I don't know how we would have been able to stop you otherwise.” She stopped, noting the odd way he was staring at her. “What?”

“Right as rain?” he asked, a small smirk quirking his lips.

“Oh, you be quiet,” she retorted, slapping his leg softly with her folder, “and you better report to the Official as soon as you feel up to it.” She was, however, very glad to see his spirits bounce back so quickly.

\- - -

Fawkes entered the Official's office just in time for the tail end of Bobby's spoken report.

“Very good,” nodded the Official, “both of you boys can write up your reports later. It's been a long day; why don't you go home.” The two agents stood flabbergasted for a moment. The Official give them time off? - Neither of them felt much like arguing, though Bobby did venture one question:

“Uh, Official, what about the guys that got Fawkes before?”

“They've been taken care of.” Fawkes and Hobbes traded surprised looks. Hardly anything got 'taken care of' around here without their direct involvement. Well, nothing to do with chasing down bad guys anyway. Still, why look a gift horse in the mouth?

“Need a lift, Fawkes?” asked Bobby as they exited the agency.

“You know, I think I will. Thanks, Hobbes,” replied Darien, shifting to half look back as he walked.

“No problem, amigo. What are partners for?” Suddenly his eyes widened, “Darien, down!”

“What-” asked Darien even as he began to crouch. There was a defining shot and Darien-- did not fall. On the far side of the street the Man, the one who had captured Darien and had gotten all of the detailed and highly secret Agency information on the I Man project, fell down dead in Darien's place. Back on this side of the street two agents stared slack jawed at their Official wielding a still smoking gun.

\- - -

Naturally this event drove everyone back into the official’s office for some answers- not that he was very forth coming. In the end all he would say was that it was personal, that it had been taken care of, and that the case was closed.

“Wait just a minute,” demanded Claire in full Keeper mode, “You sent Darien out there knowing that that man would come for him, didn't you?” The Official just eased back in his chair. “You did,” continued Claire. “You used him to draw him out, even when Darien could have been killed.”

“What I do with my investment is my own business,” barked the Official in annoyance. “Fawkes, a day of to recover then I want you and Hobbes back here for your next assignment. Well? Get moving before I change my mind.”

\- - -

_I haven’t forgotten my good friend Ben Jonson. It’s hard to when the guy hits so close to home. I’m an invisible man and a lot of the time no glass_ can _render my likeness and all people have are my words. But when I’m quicksilver mad I say some pretty horrible things. What does that say about_ my _‘innermost parts’? Hobbes and Claire are great, they never hold anything I do or say when I’m QMS against me. “It’s just the Gland’ they’d say- but sometimes I’m not so sure. I’ve spent a bit longer in my head then they have. A reflection can be a scary thing. I know._

_And really that's all there is to it, a day in the life and all that. Sure it sucks sometimes but it's mine, and it could definitely be worse. Though I have taken down all the mirrors is my apartment for a while- I don’t really want to risk not seeing, or seeing, my reflection, if that makes any sense._

_My name is Darien Fawkes, and I'm the Invisible Man._

The End


End file.
